AUGUSTO & REMINGTON

Dear Appearance,

Forgive me for it’s been far too long.

I am writing to inform you that I will be adding to your public image repertoire on January 19, 2020, inside and outside of a light-filled architectural gem. Said gem is the home of Augusto & Remington

‘ma ya pa rei do lia’ (‘maya’ and ‘pareidolia’, and further, ‘ma’, ‘ya’, ‘pa’, ‘rei’, ‘do’, and ‘lia’) is the umbrella portmanteau of the overall exhibition. To break all of that down in this letter to you would take far too long, but you get the gist. Besides, you are closely related and equally elusive and generative.

Here’s a quick overview: Inside of the viewing room resides an ocean, a pink sun, an orange sun, an upside-down bird and another bird, a regal condor, that could double as Francis Bacon’s umbrella carried by Emily Dickinson’s soul. The suns are perhaps Shinto suns. Feminine suns summoned by song from a celestial cave to come out and play.

The song goes like this:

🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶
No Longer Bothered By The Whisper/That I Thought/You Thought/I Heard
Peace Across The Board Is Unrealistic
Just Ask A Dying Bird

No Longer Bothered By The Whisper/That You Thought/I Thought/You Heard
Peace Across The Board Is Unrealistic
Just Ask A Hungry Bird
🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶

Grounded or groundless in darkness, going toward the light, the light creates a face. A face with a heart mouth, an owl nose, and two flying birds for eyes. A portrait of Venus or a mirror. Into and at, a gaze. We are one, we are none, and now, thus come one.


Yours,

Chris